Blood On My Hands
by ToxicLullaby
Summary: Excerpt: With pleading eyes, glazed over from tears of sorrow, pain, and just utter exhaustion, I looked up at my torturer, and with all the strength I could muster I whispered to him, “Please don’t hurt me anymore, Sam. Please.”


**Blood On My Hands**

Authored by Rachel Stewart

Dedicated to my dearest Pixie!

Blood ran down my arms, stinging the fresh cuts and gashes, stopping at my shirt, soaking it through. My wrists were raw like hamburger. The iron shackles clung to them, digging and burning. How long had I been there? Hours? Days? I had lost any sense of time and place. I only felt, and all I felt was pain. With pleading eyes, glazed over from tears of sorrow, pain, and just utter exhaustion, I looked up at my torturer, and with all the strength I could muster I whispered to him, "Please don't hurt me anymore, Sam. Please."

***

One week ago…

I don't know why I bothered trying to sleep. It was no use. Every time I closed my eyes, even if just to blink, all I saw was flames and all I heard was the screams of millions of helpless souls begging for mercy, their cries only being answered with more pain. Sam on the other hand was in the other bed snoring so loud I swore I felt the walls shake. Sometimes I had the feeling he was more exhausted than me. It worried me, but I was here now and I'm sure everything will go back to the way it was before too long.

Yeah right. That was one thing I knew for sure wasn't going to happen. Ever since Castiel came into my…_our…_lives, dragging a big ol' bag of gloom and doom with him, our life has been anything but the way it used to be. Hunting demons and monsters seemed so much simpler when the world's head wasn't on the chopping block, the axe in the hands of Lilith and her minions.

I thought back to the crossroads demon a few years back, the first one I summoned right after Dad, and how she said I woke up every morning and the first thought I had was how I couldn't do this anymore. Well, she was right. That was my first thought every morning. I used to think it was just because of losing Dad. But now I know it was so much more than that. It was Sam.

Losing him, be it physically or mentally, has been my worst fear since Dad put him in my arms and told me to run outside as fast as I could. I thought his biggest threat was some monster getting their claws into him. That all changed when Dad whispered in my ear that if I couldn't save him, I'd have to kill him. Now I knew. Sam's biggest threat wasn't a monster or even a demon. It was himself. How could I save him from something that was a part of him? That was his destiny?

I sighed. This was my nightly routine. Lay in bed for hours, listening to him snore and the cars pass outside with only my thoughts to entertain me. They all started out differently, depending on my mood. But they always ended in the same place. With a single question, I could potentially unravel like a ball of yarn. Every night I asked myself, how far gone is Sam already? God knows…well, at least I think he does, what he gets up to when he's alone with Ruby. Whenever I asked, he'd just brush it off and change the subject. Wonder where he learned that?

A loud bang outside had me jumping into a sitting position, alert and ready for anything to burst through the door. I sighed in relief when I heard a cat meow and saw it run across the parking lot with what looked like a mouse in its mouth. Damn cats. I laid back down and stared up at the ceiling. It was textured rough, like someone had tossed paint onto it and just let it drip down until it dried into chalky white nubs. My consciousness drifted as I stared at these, and a few moments later I was asleep, trapped in the same old dream of flames and cries, an instrument of torture in my hand as I dished out the pain.

***

Diners were as much a part of our lives as brushing our teeth or taking a piss. I could hardly remember a time that we didn't have a meal in one at least once a day. Here we sat at ten in the morning on red vinyl benches chowing down on burnt toast, runny eggs, plastic bacon, and dry sausage.

Sam yawned between bites of toast, the corners of the bread dripping with yolk. How he could still be tired was beyond me. He bit off half and washed it down with some coffee. "So tell me again about this case," he asked, though by the sound of his voice I was pretty sure he didn't give a damn.

I tossed the morning paper across the table so he could see the article I'd highlighted earlier that morning. "Three people have gone missing in the Oregon forest. Search parties scoured the entire area dozens of times and each time they come up empty handed. It could be a Wendigo or maybe a Banshee. Thought it'd be worth checking out."

Though he nodded and said, "Okay," I saw his eyes roll and by the tone of his voice I knew something was up.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing, it's just don't you think we should be hunting down Lilith instead? She's out there right now breaking seals, bringing us closer to the apocalypse and you want to go hunt a harmless monster in the forest?"

I frowned. "Harmless? Last time I checked those things are far from harmless, hence the people gone missing never to be heard of again."

"Yeah, but it's the lives of those few people or the lives of everyone in the world, Dean."

Shifting in my seat, I pushed my plate aside and rested my elbows on the table, leaning closer to Sam. "What the hell's wrong with you?" I whispered. "Since when did we stop caring about all the evil in the world just for the biggest one? All these people need our help. That's our job."

He shot me a look. "I know that's our job. It's just I don't think it's as important as hunting down Lilith. Even the Angels said that if we don't stop her from opening all the seals, Lucifer's going to walk free and we'll all be at his mercy. Is that what you really want? To be in Hell all over again, only this time there won't be any escape?"

"Look, I don't give a crap what the Angels said, Sam. We do not blow off smaller cases because of that freaky little bitch." I paused, sighing and leaning back in my seat. I never thought I'd see the day. Or maybe I was the most ignorant person on planet earth. "Even if we did take some time off from normal hunting to find her, how are we gonna do it? You really think one of her lap dogs is gonna give her up?"

"We could use that thing Bobby used last time to track her down," he suggested hopefully.

I arched an eyebrow. "You really think after that she's going to leave herself open to be found? Not even the Angels can track her down let alone a stupid maim." I leaned forward again, this time wrapping my hands around the warm white cup of coffee. "Let's wait until we have a real lead before chasing our tails, okay? Until then, let's do our job," I said in a hushed but firm tone while tapping the article I'd circled.

He breathed in deep, nodded weakly and stuffed his mouth with the last of his sausage.

***

Every motel room was the same. The different themes and colored wallpaper made no difference. Each room was a bed, a table, a broken TV, and a rugged old couch that smelled of ass and stale cigarettes. And, as always, I was lying in my bed for hours waiting to fall asleep. Only that night was different. The plunking sound of fingers typing away at a keyboard was my lullaby.

After two hours of listening to this, I finally sat up and peered at Sam through the darkness, his face illuminated by the bright light coming off the screen. "Sam, it's two in the morning, man. Stop looking at porn and go to sleep already. You'll need the rest tomorrow."

He looked up at me, his gaze sharp. "I'll be fine, Dean."

I rolled my eyes. These days he was always so touchy, snapping at me every time I opened my mouth. "Well you remember that when you're too tired to run and you trip and fall over a tree root like a girl."

Wordlessly, he smirked and turned his attention back to the screen.

"Okay man. Seriously, what are you looking at that's keeping you up all night? Or do I not wanna know?" Of course, if it was porn I'd still want to know. Not only would he not be able to blame me for any viruses his computer gets, but it'd give me some sort of sign that he even still had those thoughts…well, about anyone other than a skanky little demon.

"I think I may have found some omens."

Our eyes met.

"Okay? Saying what?"

He hesitated before answering. "Lilith. I think I may know where she is, or is going to be at least."

Somehow I was far from surprised. Every conversation these days always led back to Lilith. Not like it wasn't a pure freaking joy constantly talking about the bitch that killed me and sent me to Hell. I fell back, my head hitting the flattened pillows with a soft thump, and my hands covered my face. "Sam, what'd I tell you? We're not bailing on this case."

"We haven't even started it, so technically it's not-"

I'd heard enough. Sitting back up, I pulled out my most trusted weapon: the good ol' finger pointing. "Hey! I said no. I'll tie you to the car if I have to, but tomorrow we are going to be in that forest looking for those people or the thing that took them. Do I make myself clear?"

A hand slammed the laptop closed and I heard the springs on his bed squeak. Soon he had his duffel on the bed and was stuffing his clothes into it.

"What are you doing?"

Without stopping he said, "Let's get something straight, Dean. I'm not five; I'm twenty-five, okay? You may be older, but I am not a child and you can't tell me what to do anymore. So you want to be a pussy and go after the small fish? Fine, I don't care. Do what you want." He zipped up his bag and swung it over his shoulder. "But I'm going after Lilith, with or without your help."

Jumping out of bed, I caught him just as his hand reached the doorknob. I spun him around and pressed him up against the door with my arm across his chest. "You think you're so tough with your powers and your demon whore at your side?" He tried pushing me away, but I held my weight and kept my position. "You're nothing compared to Lilith. You go after her alone, you're asking to die. Is that really what you want, Sam? After trying so hard to bring me back to life you're just going to throw yours away?"

For a moment, neither of us said anything. We breathed hot air onto each other's faces, my eyes begging him to stay and his to let him go. And then, in a surge of strength and adrenaline, he took my by my arms and turned me around. Faster than I could think the door knob was pressing into my back and he was towering over me. In the pale stream of moonlight seeping through the old lace curtains I could make out his features. They were cold and detached. I didn't know what scared me the most, him looking angry or looking like he doesn't feel anything at all.

"Who's gonna stop me, hmm? You or one of the pretty little Angels perching on your shoulders?" he said before pausing, drawing closer, driving his gaze deeper into mine. What he saw in my eyes, I don't know, but I'm sure they looked every bit as scared as I felt. "You see, Dean. You've got Heaven on your side. Who do I have? Hell doesn't want me; Lilith wants me dead, and so does Heaven. And soon you will too."

"Sam, that's not-" I started, my voice low and rough. There was more emotion in it than I'd hoped.

"Ah, but it is true. I can see it in your eyes. They keep threatening to throw you back in the pit, but they never do. You're their chosen one. And in the end they'll show you mercy and you'll finally get to rest in peace." His hold tightened and I was soon wedged between the door and his body. "The only one who understands me now is Ruby. She's all I have, together forever in eternal darkness with no hope for anything better, be it redemption or damnation. So what difference does it make whether I live or die?"

My eyes stung hot with tears and my body trembled. I didn't know who to be more angry with, myself for letting him go this far or God for choosing me over him to be the human savior. If anyone deserved redemption, it was Sam. "It matters to me," I said, grabbing hold of his sleeve and giving it a slight tug. "I never asked for this. For any of it. You're all I have. And as your brother, I'm tell..._asking_…you to please, just stop. For both our sakes just-"

Before I could get another word out, a sharp pain hit me in the face and the room moved as I felt myself hit the floor before finding myself in total darkness.

***

Whether I was out for a few seconds or a few days, I didn't know. As I came to, the first thing I felt was my entire head throbbing furiously. I tried to bring my hand up to soothe the pain, but I found myself unable to. My eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the harsh light shining down directly on me. Through the pain I could hear that unmistakable sound, the roaring of an engine. Not just any engine. It didn't take me long to realize where I was.

Lying on my side staring at the back of a seat, my head bobbed slightly when we went over a bump in the road. My legs were bent at the knee. The most disturbing fact, though, was the rope tied tightly around my body to my knees. My ankles were bound by handcuffs, and I could feel the metal tight around my wrists, hot from being in the sun for too long.

Sam was behind the wheel of course, his window down, hair blowing in the wind over his sunglasses. He must have sensed that I was awake, because I know I didn't make any sound, he didn't look, but still said, "About time you woke up. I was starting to get kind of worried." Looking over his shoulder, what I could see of his face seemed to carry genuine concern. "How's your head?"

"Sam, what the hell are you doing?" I asked.

His attention turned back toward the road. "Sorry. That's just a precaution. I'll untie you once we're there, which actually shouldn't be much longer. An hour, two at most."

I frowned. "Where?"

"Joliet, Illinois. I think I know where Lilith is. There's a private catholic elementary school where two teachers have died in the past two weeks and others say they've seen a girl there whose eyes sometimes seem to be completely white." Smiling, our eyes met in the rearview mirror…well, my eyes, his sunglasses. "It's Lilith, Dean. We're finally gonna get the bitch," he said with the enthusiasm of a child.

"Illinois? Sam, that's a three day drive. How long have I been out?" It was damn near impossible to keep the fear from my voice. In the pit of my stomach I knew. No hit could knock a person out for that long. With bated breath I anticipated for my gut-wrenching fear to be confirmed.

He sighed and blindly reached into the seat beside him. I heard the clatter of what sounded like pills in a bottle. No words were necessary. That was all I needed to hear before tears welled in my eyes. My brother, Sammy, had actually drugged me to sleep. A part of me wanted to kill him, but another wanted to hold him close and never let him go. I was losing him. Or maybe I already had and was too afraid to admit it.

"Well, like I said, I couldn't really risk you waking up along the way. I know you can be kind of panicky about this kind of stuff, so whenever you'd start to wake up I slipped you a few Nembutal."

I heard him say the words, and I saw the bottle in his hand with the pink and white pills, but I still couldn't believe it. "You drugged me?"

"No, not…well, I guess technically I did. But it was for your best interest. Really, it was. Oh, and be sure to do your laundry once we're there. You kind of wet yourself a few times along the way, so remind me to give you the garbage bag with your dirty clothes in it. You have quarters for the machine, right?"

I blinked, everything around me suddenly becoming incoherent. A warm pool of tears formed on the leather seat below my head, and I felt my stomach tighten into a million knots. Slowly, the world started growing dark again, and the last thing I heard before completely passing out was someone mumbling, "Please," over and over again. It was me. What I was pleading for, I don't know. But I knew whatever it was, it couldn't come fast enough.

***

A dull aching pain pounded throughout every part of me from the waist up. Without opening my eyes, I knew I was lying on my back, and could feel the frighteningly familiar metal around my wrists. My ankles were tied together, probably with the rope that was wrapped all around me earlier…or later. The cuffs told me that what happened earlier wasn't a dream…but maybe it was. Maybe that was my reality and this is my dream? How could I tell? My answer came in a warm tone that turned my insides to ice, threatening to shatter at a single touch.

"Dean, you awake?" Sam whispered close to my ear.

Slowly my eyes opened, greeted with a look of…hope? Concern, maybe? He was sitting beside me, arms resting on the bed and face close to mine. "Sa-" I tried, but my voice was too hoarse, throat dry, sending me into a violent coughing fit. With every hack my chest tightened, restricting my breathing to painful gasps.

"Hey, it's okay, shh," he soothed, and soon I felt a hand slip under my head and something cold and hard pressed to my lips. Water, room temperature with a metallic taste from the tap spilled into my mouth and all over my face, and I swallowed what I could. Thankfully I didn't feel any pills. Finally my coughing subsided and I was able to breathe a little deeper, though it still hurt and felt like something was wrapped tight around my chest. Sam grabbed a towel from his side and patted my face dry. "Are you okay? Do you need some medicine?"

At the sound of that word my heart seemed to stop beating and I froze.

Obviously he caught onto my uneasiness. Head shaking, he reached over onto the bedside table. "I meant cough medicine. Look, it's still in the package. I still had some left over from that cold I had a few weeks ago. There cherry flavored, which I know you absolutely hate, but they work." He raised it a little higher. "You want?"

My head shook before he completed his sentence. "No, I'm fine." At this point I turned my head away from him, both to hide the moisture welling in my eyes that were a result of more than just the coughing, and to also get a look at my wrists, red, raw, and cuffed to the thick, heavy wooden headboard. "I thought you said you were going to untie me once we got there?"

"Dean you…don't you remember?"

Our eyes met.

"Remember what?" I asked.

Hesitating, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It wasn't until then that I caught a glimpse of a red gash above his eyebrow, covered mostly by his hair. "Yesterday when we got here, you agreed to cooperate if I untied you, but the second the cuffs came off you threw me down and pinned me to the floor."

I looked away, silent, and wracked my brain for even a scrap of memory from the incident that took place…yesterday? We'd been here for an entire day already? Just then, like a strobe light, bits and pieces flashed before my eyes. Was this what people saw before they died?

"_Whoa, Dean, calm down!" Sam screamed. I had him in a good hold on the floor beneath me. His hands were on my chest, pushing, but I wouldn't budge._

_My face was red, eyes narrow and mouth contorted into a snarl. I was beyond pissed. That's the look I had whenever I went after a monster, especially if they had attacked Sam. "So help me God you son of a bitch, if you ever drug me again I'll kill you!" It was at that point that I drew my hand back and clocked him a good one above the eyebrow._

_A cold smile I hadn't seen on that face since that demon bitch Meg had possessed him spread across his face. "Is that what it'll take to get you to man up to your promise? Then go ahead, kill me!"_

I didn't actually see the memory, but felt it. Something big and hard slammed into my chest and stomach. This must be why I was so sore, or one of the reasons at least. Swallowing hard, my eyes searched his for something, anything telling me this wasn't him. This wasn't my Sammy. But there was no shine of black or yellow. They were still the olive green and sepia, like dead fallen leaves on the grass. "What'd you do to me?" I asked.

Sam took a sudden interest in his hands that rested in his lap. "You were out of control, screaming, yelling. I couldn't calm you down. You left me no choice. After I finally pushed you off me and got to my feet, you were coming at me again, so I kind of pinned you to the wall."

That was all it took for me to realize why this pain felt so familiar. I should have seen it sooner. My eyes couldn't stand the sight of him any longer. They moved toward the window on the other side of the room. Soon my vision morphed into an array of greens and browns, like a dirty puddle on the street. First he drugged me, then he pinned me to the wall with his demon powers. Was he even human anymore? I was almost able to keep it together, but at the gentle touch of a hand soft on my arm I flinched away and crumbled like a bone turned to ash. I didn't care anymore. I cried, head falling to the side away from him. I'd felt many things towards Sam. Fear was never one of them until now.

I heard him sigh and his chair creak in protest to his weight shifting back. "I swear I'll let you go, Dean. Lilith's not getting any older than tonight, and then I'll come back here and let you go, and we'll never talk about this again. This is what has to be done. It breaks my heart, I mean you're my brother and I love you, but she has to die. The world depends on it."

"This isn't you, Sammy. You're possessed. It can't be you," I cried.

"Sorry, not this time. It's all me in here."

I tried to fight the sadness that had overcome me and replace it with anger. The tears become less frequent as I recited what I knew of the exorcism rite we normally use. "Exorcizamus te. Omnis immundus spiritus. Omnis satanica potestas. Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii. Omnis-"

"Dean…" he interrupted.

I ignored him. "-Legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. In nomine et virtute domini nostri Jesu Christi-" My voice fell short when I realized I wasn't the only one reciting the Latin. Sam, or whoever, was saying them with me in perfect time.

He chuckled. "Want more proof?" From my bag he pulled out my bottle of holy water. I knew he hadn't altered it or anything from the moisture speckled over half the bottle where the water didn't reach. After twisting the cap and tossing it to the floor, a shit-eating grin flashed across his face and he gulped down the entire bottle. Nothing. No smoke, not even a grimace at the nasty water that's been in there for about two months. When empty, he dropped it to the floor. "Proof enough?"

I suddenly became enraged. I knew this couldn't be him. Sam needed my help. "Get out of my brother you son of a bitch!" I screamed, and with all my strength I pulled, trying to break the headboard. My wrists, already blistered and bruised, hurt so bad that I'm pretty sure most of the screaming was out of pain rather than fear or anger. I didn't stop though. I heard a crack and knew I'd soon be free, but before I could break it Sam was on top of me, holding the board back with one hand and using the other to cover my mouth as I continued to scream, "Let him go!"

"Calm down! You're gonna get us thrown out," he said.

But I didn't care. I continued to scream even though they were muffled. Moving in every which way like someone having a violent seizure I tried to get him off me. He didn't budge. It didn't register that his hand had moved or that my screams grew louder, so when two small round things fell into my mouth I didn't feel them and ended up choking on them. Water spilled between my lips and over my face, burning my nose, and by reflex I swallowed, realizing too late that I had just swallowed more pills.

Within a couple of minutes my screams began to subside until all I could do was lie there in the bed unable to move or form complete words. The room became blurry and the darkness crept back into my eyes until I couldn't see anything. I heard the faint clinking of keys and then the door open and close. And then nothing.

***

The whine of sirens roused me from my sedation. My mouth and throat were drier than a desert and I could hardly think through the headache that had erupted in my skull, threatening to explode with every excruciating pulse. Slowly my eyes opened, expecting to be hit with the harsh light of day only to be met with more darkness.

I couldn't make out anything through the darkness because my vision was still blurred. Even the slightest movement of turning my head was a struggle. On my tongue I tried to form words, but found I was unable to. My arms were stretched out from side to side, still cuffed to the headboard. I could see the red glow of numbers from the alarm clock but couldn't read them.

Water. That was all I could think about. I was so thirsty. My fingers uncurled and briefly brushed against something cold and hard. Smooth. It was a cup. Only it was just out of reach. My brain tried telling my arm to move, to reach for the water, but it remained heavily on the bed. If only I could shake this drowsiness off enough to move a little.

A dry moan escaped my throat as if it could give me any strength. All that did was make my throat itch, adding to my already near unbearable agony. I moaned again, this time sounding more like a cry. Perhaps it was. Through the pain a huge lump in my throat began to form, and warm wetness spilled onto my face, trailing across my face, creating a wet spot on my pillow. The distorted red glow faded into black. I fell back into a deep sleep.

***

The first thing that crept through my subconscious was the cold. It wasn't like walking outside in the snow without a jacket, or even hopping into the shower only to realize you'd turned the water on cold. It bit through my thin t-shirt and jeans and seeped through to my bones. Every hair on my body stood on end. And then came the pain.

My head still hurt, only this time it was a full blown migraine. And I was still thirstier than ever. The only sensation in my arms was a tingly feeling, other than that they were completely numb. My shoulders and back were so sore I was briefly reminded of the time I screwed up a job for Dad and he made me do two hundred push ups. It took me a moment to realize they were now cuffed above my head rather than out to my sides, and my back was pressed against some kind of pipe or something.

I opened my eyes and didn't recognize the room I was in. At first I thought it was daytime from the light, but as my vision cleared some I saw that it was still dark outside, and the light was coming from candles which were placed all around the room, the wax dripping down over old wooden furniture. By the filth of the place and the decay, it guessed I was in the bedroom of a house that hadn't been lived in for at least a few decades.

A sound off to the side alerted me that I wasn't alone. Though I wasn't nearly as drowsy now as I was the last time I woke up, the pain in my upper body made turning my head an excruciating challenge. My eyes fell on Sam, slouched over an old wobbly table with a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels clutched in his hand.

Glazed eyes slowly moved in my direction. When we made eye contact, neither of us said anything. He took a long swig of whiskey and slammed the glass bottle back down.

Gradually I tilted my head upward to get a look at my hands. Rather than being bound by the metal cuffs from before, he'd switched them out for a heavier pair of iron shackles, cuffing me to the rusted brass headboard of the old bed, covered in leaves and probably bugs. The more attention I paid to my wrists, the more they started hurting until it seemed to hit me all at once. The rough iron dug into my severely raw and blistered skin.

"The world's going to end, Dean."

Our eyes met.

"What?" I forced out, the dryness of my throat killing me.

Sam took another swig of the amber liquor and sucked in a sharp breath. "I got there just in time to see Lilith kill another teacher. She looked at me, smiled, and just disappeared, body and all. The woman, the teacher…she died in my arms. I couldn't save her. I couldn't kill Lilith." He shook his head and blinked away the moisture in his eyes. "The world's gonna die and I feel there's not a damn thing we can do to stop it."

"I'm sor-" My words caught in my throat and I went into another coughing attack. Rather than getting me some water like last time, he just sat there staring off into space. He didn't even help me when I cried out in pain from the cuffs digging into my wrists and blood started to run down my arms. Finally I regained control and said, "Sam, get these damn things off me."

His head shook. "No."

I frowned. "Come on, man. Don't do this. Just let me go and we can talk about it. You've made your point." I didn't know what kind of reaction to expect, but when he grabbed the bottle and started staggering towards me every part of my body froze, anticipating more pain that was sure to come.

Standing beside the old bed, a malicious smirk tugged at Sam's lips and he took a swig of whiskey. His eyes were glazed and skin was flushed. This must've been what he was like while I was gone. I'd give anything not to see him like this ever again. "Hey Dean, do you remember Alija Perez?" he asked.

I shot him a look. It'd been at least ten years since I'd heard that name. "What does that have to do with any of this?"

"Just answer the question," he commanded.

Rolling my eyes, I sighed and looked away. "We were in Chicago for my nineteenth birthday while Dad was working a case in Aurora. I used one of my fake id's to buy beer and whiskey since there was no way you could pass for twenty one, but I couldn't leave you alone. So I thought it'd be cool if we both got drunk. Of course you being the nerdy goody-two-shoes didn't want to, but eventually you caved."

"Skip to the good part," he said between sips.

I watched him swallow the burning liquid, grimacing as he felt it burn all the way down. Those days seemed like another life sometimes, now more so than ever. "I guess at the height of our little party, when we were both completely trashed, one of Dad's friends called asking for help on a case. There was a Black Cadejo going after him and he needed help to find out how to kill the son of a bitch. So I told him I'd give Dad a call and see if he knew anything, and if not then Bobby would know." I jumped, hissing in pain, when he started laughing. "What the hell's so funny?"

Shaking his head, he held his stomach as he kept on laughing hysterically. "Y-you told that poor bastard that you'd call people and help him. B-but you didn't because you were so out of it you ended up falling asleep with your cell phone in your hand! You even puked all over it the next morning."

My eyes moved from one cuffed wrist to the other. Red was smeared all over my hand and arm. It burned so bad that I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from crying. I couldn't look at my brother anymore. I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making me feel like I was trying to swallow a bowling ball. "It's not funny, Sam." I said hoarsely. "Alija was killed because of me."

He had his laughter under control, but that smirk from before returned to his face. "I remember Dad coming home three days later than he said he would. The man was so pissed he could barely talk. Turned out he'd been called by a few hunters who said the last person Alija talked to was you."

I breathed in a shaky breath. In my head I had an image of Sam literally ripping open a wound and rubbing salt into it. "I fell asleep while still on the line. Well, passed out's more like it. And I guess his phone recorded the whole thing. Your voice was in the background, you were laughing at God knows what, and then you passed out too. He died screaming at me for help."

"Do you remember what Dad did that night when he came home?" he asked.

Of course he knew I remembered. How could I not? Dad rarely ever beat us. Our punishments were usually extra training. There were three times in our whole lives that man ever raised a hand to us. Well, me, at least. He'd never hit Sam because he knew if he did the kid would've taken off and never come back. The first time was when I was fourteen and took the Impala for a joyride. Second was meant for Sam, who'd made a comment on class about guns which brought Child Services on our ass, but I wouldn't stop screaming in Dad's face until he hit me. Sam was only ten years old. But that last time in Chicago was the worst.

I cleared my throat in an attempt to shake the emotion from my voice. "Uh, yeah, I remember. That was the only time he'd ever taken a belt to me."

"I remember waking up to the sound of you gasping. Dad was standing over you, the half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, and he was pouring it on you. Like this."

My gut wrenched when I saw him move the bottle in his hand above my head. Acrid smelling amber liquid spilled over my head and down onto my face and shirt. I gasped, much like he was talking about that happened so long ago. And suddenly, he wasn't Sam anymore. He was Dad, but with Sammy's voice.

"Do you remember what he said to you, Dean?" he asked me.

I couldn't speak because I was shaking, from the damp coldness or from fright, I don't know. He laughed, and my heart went from hardly beating to beating so fast I swore it was going to shoot out of my chest with each thump.

"You want to get drunk, Son? You think you're so bad? So cool? I'll show you with this stuff does to people."

At the sound of a belt being dragged across denim, I squirmed, clenching my teeth at the pain muttering, "No. Don't. Please, Sammy. No. Don't do it. Don't do it!" My pleas were answered with a stinging lash to the face. I screamed. Where the leather belt made contact it felt both searing hot from the whip but cool when the air hit the blood dripping down my right cheek down to my chin. "Please," I continued to cry. This time I really was crying, the hot tears only serving to create more pain as they trailed down into the gash.

The belt struck me again, this time in the chest, ripping through my thread barren t-shirt.

"You know what your problem is, Dean? You're weak."

Through my tears I only caught a blurred glimpse of his arm rising into the air. I didn't need to be able to see where it hit. My stomach. Like before, my shirt ripped and a dark red wet spot appeared. I groaned through clenched teeth, my hands made into fists and blood coming from everywhere.

Sam laughed deep-throatily, much like he'd done when he was possessed. "You couldn't even kill one sweet innocent virgin to save thirty people!"

Leather struck me again. And again I screamed. My voice was becoming so hoarse, my throat so dry, that I could hardly breath.

"Hell, you couldn't even kill me to save the world. And look what I've become. Look what I'm turning in to. This is all because of you, Dean. If you had grown a pair and done what Dad told you to do the world wouldn't be heading towards its death. Out of all the orders Dad's given you, every one you've obeyed like an obedient attack dog, the one you failed at is the one that's not just going to get us both killed, but is going to kill everybody!"

Another lashing caused me to start choking when I tried to scream. In my mouth I could taste the iron. The blood. I'd bitten my tongue trying not to scream too loud. To not cry. It spilled in a sweet sticky stream over my dry chapped lips, bleeding of their own accord, and down onto my clothes. I expected another strike with the belt, but I didn't hear the sound of metal clinking against the termite-eaten floorboards. A moment later a hand had a tight grip on my chin and something sharp was pressed to my cheek right below the cut. It was a struggle, but my eyes were finally able to open, my eyelashes sticking together from all the moisture. The cold air stung them. I could barely make out the face that hovered close to mine, and the icy smile spread across it.

"You know, Dean, you've never been real good at hiding your emotions," he started, his voice just above a whisper. "I remember you locking yourself in the bathroom for an hour, two hours at a time. You tried to pass it off as just another jerk session of a horny fourteen year old, but I knew better. For just as long after that you wouldn't sit. So one night while you were asleep, lying on your stomach, I carefully pulled down the blankets and pushed up the leg of your boxers to get a look at your thigh. I was right."

I heard my voice break, and I couldn't see him anymore. Not even his outline. My head shook, but I couldn't say anything. The sharp thing moved down my cheek, throat, and down to my chest. I knew it was a knife. _The _knife.

"How good did it feel to drag a razor across your skin? How good did it feel to watch yourself bleed? See, I think you still want that, Dean. To feel that feeling of bliss, of peace, wash over you like it did when you'd cut yourself. Do you?"

My throat rendered me unable to answer. When the feeling of the knife disappeared, I thought he'd left, or was going to, since I could feel puffs of warm breath being blown onto my face. I was wrong. A second later I felt a pinch on my arm, and then a burning sensation. I hissed.

Sam cut me again, and again, and again, all while screaming, "Pain is the only way you'll ever feel happy!"

Blood ran down my arms, stinging the fresh cuts and gashes, stopping at my shirt, soaking it through. My wrists were raw like hamburger. The iron shackles clung to them, digging and burning. How long had I been there? Hours? Days? I had lost any sense of time and place. I only felt, and all I felt was pain. With pleading eyes, glazed over from tears of sorrow, pain, and just utter exhaustion, I looked up at my torturer, and with all the strength I could muster I whispered to him, "Please don't hurt me anymore, Sam. Please."

A sudden bout of laughter erupted from before me, the sound of shoes dragging across the floor drawing nearer until wisps of hair tickled my face. The knife pressed into my chest again, over my rapidly beating heart. I'm sure he could feel the vibrations pulsating through the blade and into the handle. "Dean, Dean, Dean, always with your bleeding heart. Yet you never seem to care about what happens to you. You're pathetic."

A sharp pain in my chest had me screaming, squirming, and trying anything to escape this torture. Whether it was just a cut or he'd actually stabbed me in the heart, I couldn't tell. It didn't matter. I just kept on screaming. At him. At myself. At Dad. But most of all, at God. Sam prayed everyday for who knows how long for deliverance and look what he's become. Sam was right. I was pathetic. How could someone as disgusting as me be chosen to save everyone? Beside, even if I did, would the world truly be saved from all the evil?

I didn't know how it happened, but somehow he'd dropped two pills into my mouth and got me to swallow them without choking from all the screaming. The darkness swallowed me again. This time, I welcomed it without hesitation, silently praying that it would never release its hold on me again.

***

A semi truck sounding its horn as it went by roused me from my sleep. Gasping, I shot into a sitting position. Bright light pouring in through the window were harsh on my eyes. Squinting around the room, I found it empty. It took a moment to realize I wasn't bound anymore. My hands rose freely before my eyes. The sight overwhelmed me.

There was no bruising, no blisters or even blood. Quickly I pulled up my shirt to get a look at my chest and stomach. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary aside from a few faint scars which was sure had always been there. The bathroom door suddenly opened and Sam appeared through a cloud of steam with just a pair of boxers on and a blue towel draped over his shoulders.

"Hey, I was wondering when you were gonna wake up. I went ahead and bought us some coffee and donuts. Yours is on the table," he said while drying off his hair.

I blinked, trying to wrap my head around the fact that everything seemed normal.

He frowned. "Dean, you okay?"

It took a moment for our eyes to meet.

I hesitated. "I-I don't know."

Despite the odd look I received from him, he moved across the room and picked up a piece of paper from the table. "Hey, check this out. Last night I couldn't sleep so I did a little bit of research on the town closest to where the victims have all disappeared. Turns out that someone, or more likely something, has been sneaking into their homes and sucking on the children's necks, leaving marks just like a classic vampire. Each child has been hospitalized, four have died so far. I'm thinking we've got an Adze on our hands."

Looking around the room, a strange feeling of familiarity came over me. "Sam, where are we?"

His eyebrows creased. "Um, we're in Oregon, just like we were when you drove us here yesterday." Pausing, he dropped the paper on my bed and moved closer, putting a hand to my forehead. "Are you feeling okay? You're acting really strange."

I flinched away. "I'm fine, Sam. I guess I just had a really intense nightmare." Without waiting for a reply I climbed out of bed and made for the bathroom. After locking the door and making sure I was secure in there, I went to the mirror behind the sink. I turned and lifted the thin fabric of my black boxers to where I could get a clear view of the back of my thigh. Three scars, thin and horizontal, were barely visible. My eyes fell on a razor resting beside the sink. It looked inviting.

But I didn't reach for it. I hadn't in at least six years and no matter how luring the release was, I didn't want to pick the habit back up. My eyes gazed into their icy reflection, searching for the answers that weren't there. I guessed I would never know the truth.

***

As always, Sam knew exactly what kind of donuts I loved. There was nothing like a big box full of greasy chocolate covered bread with sweet cream in the middle. I washed all six of them down with milk, and yes I ate six because I was freaking starving like…well, I guess like I hadn't eaten in days. While Sam finished getting ready, stuffing yesterday's clothes into his duffle, I went to stuff the box into the trash bin. It was full with wrappers and what looked like chicken bones. I didn't remember eating chicken, or anything for that matter.

"Hey, who had chicken?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, I went to the corner shop down the street for something to eat. All they had left was burritos and fried chicken," Sam answered. Zipping his bag up, he swung it over his shoulder before holding out his hand. "Here, I'll take the empty box to the dumpster around back."

I pulled it away. "I've got it." Grabbing my packed bag from the bed I headed for the door.

It was cold out. I hated winter. No matter how many layers I wore the cold always seeped through and I was always stuck freezing my ass off. I pushed through the overgrown bushes and past a broken gate to where they kept the dumpster. Absentmindedly I lifted the big black lid and tossed the box inside. Though just as I was about to close it something caught my eye.

Raising the lid higher so I could get some more light, I peered down past the swirl of bugs and flies. Barely visible beneath a broken TV was a black garbage bag. It looked like any other bag, but something told me it wasn't.

"_Oh, and be sure to do your laundry once we're there. You kind of wet yourself a few times along the way, so remind me to give you the garbage bag with your dirty clothes in it."_

These words ran through my mind as I reached through the filth, face clenched at the stench. With some difficulty I pushed the TV off the plastic bag. I looked around at my surroundings, making sure I was alone before moving part of the bag so I could see what was inside. What I saw had my stomach dropping onto the floor and a wave of nausea overcame me.

It was my old t-shirt, bloody and torn. I lost it when I glimpsed a smaller sack full of pill bottles tucked beneath it. Clutching my stomach, I keeled over beside the dumpster and threw up everything I'd eaten that morning. Through gasping breaths I heard someone call my name. Without rising I turned my head to find Sam standing in the parking lot looking over the bushes at me.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked, his voice sincere, not showing the slightest bit of fear that I'd uncovered his secret.

Straightening up, I wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my coat and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just ate too much."

"Okay, well I'm ready so…"

"Yeah, I'm coming." I slammed the heavy lid shut and headed for the car, my gun cold pressed against the small of my back where it was tucked into my jeans. I was alone. Sam wouldn't listen. Who else did I have if not my own brother? Nobody. Nothing I could do could change things. I knew that now. And nothing I could wish for would ever happen. No gun or knife could change either of our destinies. Death awaited us at every corner, and every time I rounded one I prayed that it would take me.


End file.
